Archives

It was a ruse
Disguised
in his
blatant way,
we had business
to do
(or so he would say)
and I have
forgotten
how clever he
is at finding
adventure
his first
intention is
to roll fast
and hard,
find those
places like
an old graveyard
seamy dank
buildings and
pastures of green
anything goes
sight unseen,
for today was
the abstract
the country
the true facts
the writing on
the wall,
we cruised his
home town
and I almost
drowned
in disbelief:
where was the
homestead,
the horses
the wheat,
instead we
buzzed buildings
high as the sky
giant fortresses
my oh my,

It is a wild and
lonely heart
that hands off
the pages,
wrapped neatly
and placed in
an expensive bag,
the priceless work
has many hours
of sweat embedded,
toil and anguish,
laughter and
ritual of recall,
all of it there
between the lines
of a story that
has taken on
such a life
of its own,
you query me
over and over,
from where
did this come,
and after a year
of digging through
the remains of
my history,
my mother
my father
myself,
I must say
that the seed
of any tale
must begin
here, inside
given like
a gene,

I dreamed today
of a famous song
and a place that
shares that piece,
and I was up
there singing
with flavor
and release,
while down
in front were
all my friends
and enemies
as well,
never sure
just who they
are, it’s always
hard to tell,
and sitting
there beside me
strumming
the guitar
was the master
of my fate,
coming from
afar, he held
the neck and
slid his long
fingers down
the strings, very
much in tune
with me
and the song
I chose to sing,

It comes together
like a dream,
the words on the page
are filled with
streams of descriptive
passages written
by someone else,
how could this story
have come
from myself,
it seems to describe
an Alien nation
a thriller in time,
a wild sensation
with sensual
passion and cool
edgy Fashion and
men making
movies, this world
is so groovy…
I wish I was there,
riding the waves
without a care,

We have a new
story from the
old glory, reciting
scenes from
The PICKLE JAR,
the place we all
describe as past
adventures in
substances unlikely
to enhance your
health, admittedly
great wealth
has been summoned
to pay the piper
for the debauchery
of such things,
and there is always
one guy who fondly
recalls all
of the drooling
blathering idiots
that make up
long lost nights,
mostly embellished
and recalled with
a flourish, they
portray the poor
subject as a
hopeless fool,(at least

She tells me
she wants to
go home,
looking angelic
for a moment
then wickedly
smiling and
drawing me
near, she whispers
“they will never
know our secrets
not in one hundred
years”, she never
fears, for this is
the age of mystic
mind paths
she returns to
her childhood
and speaks for
hours to her
parents, being
scolded often
and crying out,
we listen from
the hallway in
wonder, her
journey is coming
to an end,(at least

My wild wild
cynics, otherwise
known as Cymbidium
in a world of blooming
madness, they rank
amongst the beautiful
and the hardy, the
delicate and tardy,
often gloriously difficult
and strange sticky
targets as perhaps
the most fabulous of all,
this, I say, after being
duped year after year
brought to tears
from a knawing
creepy snail, able
to impale the tiny
tender shoots, hiding
in the roots until sundown
they gobble my prize,
having waited for an
entire season, one year
to snag a stem or two
of brilliant yellow, or
mellow maroon,
the white will delight
with a tinge of pink
smack on the center,
I have miraculously
entered the year of
the hothouse babies,
proof positive that
these creatures are
more than human,

They wanted my
story, so to speak
kind of a sweet
idea, reciting all
the reasons I
landed in the
sands of Monterey,
adventured through
Carmel and salad
days, a lot of
romantic haze
pounding the
pavement of Cannery
Row, you know
that is a very famous
place, Steinbeck
did his job well, no
Grapes of Wrath here
only rusty towers
where sardines once
traversed the street,
I repeated these
juicy tidbits before
the blue screen,
sequestered away
on a Sunday,
in the back of a
museum where
they documented me
For all time,

Everywhere
there are disguises
is that really a cop
or just a secret
security guy
sleuthing around
the early hours
of a big happening,
eyeing the chick
with long legs
and high boots,
is she in cahoots
with the shaved head
who shares his smoke,
we enter without
search, special passes
for the photog, it’s
a long day with a lens
so credit is given
and we are released
into the giant parkland
lined with towering trees
everywhere you can see
the work in progress:
stages with bands,
food guys and sword
swallowers, a woman who
walks the razor ladder
it doesn’t matter where
you turn, there is
a scene for the screen:
babies with painted faces
and men having races
to reach the beer line,
we begin with a schedule
in the middle of this
massive party, attending
those melodic acts who
must be attributed
to the crowds, after all
we are celebrating
the music, isn’t that
what the crush is about

Tell me which
frequency
you’re receiving
me on, is it quiet
and sultry, or
fuzzy and gone,
I’m trying my
best to live up
to the test:
simulcasting
broadcasting
long lasting
energy: the core
of the Human race
divided into Particles
that travel
time and space,
(kind of a miracle
when we come
face to face),
so I try to imagine
just how you see me
am I bold and inviting
on color TV,